


Catch Me a Catch

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blackmail, Bondage, F/M, Faustian Bargain, M/M, Manipulation, Occult, Trick or Treat: Trick, Whipping, bait and switch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 15:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12510240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mieron Haut-Vier is a single man in possession of a good fortune.  J. R. Seim is prepared to provide him with a wife, but the price may not be what Mieron assumes.





	Catch Me a Catch

Mieron put the cheque down on the man's desk. He didn’t have patience for an argument or a long sales pitch, and people who were inclined towards that sort of thing tended to cut it short when he made it clear how much he was willing to pay. And for the services that J. R. Seim offered, he was willing to pay quite a bit. Even if the man himself wasn’t quite what Meiron had expected. He ought to have been someone small and tidy, a dark man with a neat mustache and an elegant suit who could transfix people with an uncanny glare, pin their wills to a watch spinning at the end of its chain. The man in the office was big and blond and looked more like a bush pilot or a big game hunter than . . . whatever it was that he was.

J. R. Seim picked up the cheque, considered it. "That's a lot of money."

"It is," said Mieron. "It took some digging, but I've learned that you were consulted by Eliam Sarn-Avris, and by Deiril Ammath. I don’t know how you achieved the results that you achieved with them, but I want what they purchased. And as you can see, I'm prepared to pay."

"I'm not a matchmaker." Seim looked at the cheque again, then back up at Mieron. "It's true that was what those two gentlemen came to me to discuss, and I may have arranged matters to their satisfaction in that regard. But that's not mainly what I do."

"But it is something that you do."

He nodded. "I'm Jorram, by the way."

"Charmed," said Meiron. His name was on that cheque, and given the sort of matches that Jorram had arranged, he probably would've recognized him without it. Ever since his father had passed, Mieron Haut-Vier's picture had shown up in the society pages more often than he would've liked--it had become a bother, after the initial satisfaction had faded.

"I can see the red threads and twisting cables of fate," said Jorram. "And I can twist them, by making slight adjustments. A minute of delay, and someone who would've been hit by an omnibus isn't. Or someone who wouldn't have been hit--"

"Please," said Mieron, settling himself into one of the chairs opposite Jorram's desk. The furnishings were nice enough, for a tradesman. "You don't have to pretend to anything; you already have my cheque. Eliam Sarn-Avris is a horse-faced moron, and Deiril Ammath is a bankrupt who cannot give up the horses, and they've both married women with fine figures and fortunes. I want that, not mumbo-jumbo, and I want it sooner, rather than later. There's an entailment that requires me to be wed within the next few years or I lose a sum which I do not intend to lose."

"It's important that you understand, though," said Jorram. "I don't have files and recommendations and worried mamas and all that. Fate is an indirect thing; when I pull one string, another contracts, a cable is shifted. Nothing happens directly. Perhaps a more practical demonstration will make my meaning clear?"

He strode to a closet at the other side of his office and flung the doors open. A woman hung suspended there, naked, in a network of ropes like a bright red spiderweb. She was covered in welts, some of them red and angry, some of them already purpling into bruises, and she held a long-handled riding whip in her mouth.

"Lady Fieris?" said Mieron. "Good lord! I'm not going to be an accessory to kidnapping, man. If you want to--"

"Not kidnapping," said Jorram. "Not by any stretch of the imagination. Lady Fieris arrived here in her own coach, and she'll be coming back here next month in exactly the same way."

"You'll excuse me if I'm not entirely convinced," said Mieron.

Jorram sighed and took the whip from Lady Fieris' mouth. "Reassure him," he said.

She dropped her head, not meeting Mieron's eyes. "It's true. If you come to the Hapran Opening in two days, I'll confirm it then, if you still need confirmation."

"Good girl!" said Jorram. "There, you see?"

"I. . . does she enjoy this?" asked Mieron.

"Not at all," said Jorram. "Not one little bit." He ran his hand along her cheek. She shuddered at the touch, but didn't pull away. "She's here because she's bound here by those threads of fate." Jorren touched one of the strings of that spiderweb, strummed it. Then he tightened it; just a hair, just enough to pull it to another hook. Lady Fieris went up to her toes, her mouth open in a silent scream, as the ropes across her crotch tightened, squeezing. . . Mieron would've looked away if he could've, but he couldn't. It was pulling right against her clit, and it was. . . "A slight adjustment, and a great deal of effect. I have tightened those strings around her, and she is caught by them."

Jorram tapped her cheek, and even though Mieron could see the agony in her eyes, she opened her mouth and took the handle of the whip between her teeth, carefully, gently.

Jorram closed the door of the wardrobe, and Mieron started at the thud it made. "And Lord Fieris?" he said. "Surely he--"

"While your cheque is a generous one," said Jorram, "it is not a complete payment. I gave the Lord Fieris something, and I expect something in return from him. You understand."

Mieron considered. "I'll not be passing my titles to your bastards."

"The details are details," said Jorram. "I have no interest in fathering bastards. I enjoy. . . well, you've seen what I enjoy. The act itself is secondary to that."

"I see," said Mieron. "And yet--"

"And yet the Lady Fieris cannot decline my attentions. Nor can she decline the attentions of her wedded Lord. The strands of fate have tightened around her, you see. Who is that you desire, who is it that you want, who will be obliged to indulge your interests, in the way that the Lady Fieris is obliged to indulge mine?"

"Airis Te-Amorn," said Mieron.

"Ah," said Jorram.

"If it's not possible, I will be satisfied with--"

"It's possible," said Jorram. "After the Hapran season opens, decline invitations from the Fieris and from the Haut-Treil. Accept the next one you receive, but don't drink to excess, and make sure that you have a warm coat with you. There isn't a direct path between what you have and what you want. But a faint pull at one point will cause a more dramatic action elsewhere."

 

And that concluded the interview, more or less. For all his supposed outrage, the scion of the Haut-Vier was reduced to trying to hide his erection like a schoolboy, and kept throwing looks at Jorram’s closet as he said his farewells. It was clear that Jorram’s demonstration had left at least a temporary impression. Once Haut-Vier was gone and the office door had clicked shut behind him, Jorram got Lady Fieris out of storage and positioned her under his desk. Her mouth was soft and careful. She knew what Jorram could do, and what he would do to her if she displeased him at all.

It was a pleasant place to keep his cock while he considered his day's work. He'd seen that fellow's face in the paper; half a pennysworth of dried figs given to a newsboy, and eight days later, he was in Jorram’s office. It would be longer before the matter was be done. More than a year before Haut-Vier married the heiress Airis Te-Amorn, and two years after that before he tired of that marriage and give her a divorce. And another year after that before Haut-Vier made the choices that led to him naked and bound beneath Jorram's desk.

There would be nudges here and there, to make sure that he tired of his young and wealthy and beautiful wife. And nudges to be sure that he fell in with the correct wrong crowd. But that was the satisfaction of it. Jorram grabbed Lady Fieris' hair, forced her down onto his cock. She didn't have the knack of it, but she knew what disappointing him would mean to her younger brothers in the service abroad. She was mastered, and knew it, and it was that, rather than her soft warm lips and the pain in her eyes, that made him groan, made him shudder and pulse.

He would whip her again to regain his enthusiasm. When Haut-Vier came back to his office, knowing what it meant. . . well. It would take years, but it was as inevitable as the Lady Feiris' screams, when he brought the whip down on her breasts and on her back. She was bound, so that she couldn't escape when it reached the point where animal fear overcame her mind. 

Mieron Haut-Vier was just as tightly bound, though he didn't know it yet.

**Author's Note:**

> True story--I had already written this fic when I just happened to come across [this gif](https://cinawskicinawski.tumblr.com/post/156716388059/rope-by-hajime-kinoko-gif-schwein-child) (the gif itself is technically SFW but not everything on the page necessarily is).
> 
> Coincidence .... OR IS IT?


End file.
